


black palms

by caramelcaramelcaramel



Series: spideychelle week 2020 babey [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Birthday Party, Drunk MJ, Drunk Peter Parker, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, POV First Person, POV Michelle Jones, Pool, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Spideychelle, Spideychelle Week 2020, Surprise Party, Swimming Pools, also MJ is too smart for surprise parties, first touch, i don't wanna be responsible for that, no don't do that, take a shot every time soulmate is mentioned, you'd be dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24657994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelcaramelcaramel/pseuds/caramelcaramelcaramel
Summary: when you turn 18, you get a black mark where your soulmate's skin will touch yours for the first time. if you don't get a mark, they've already touched you.MJ's mark shows up as a handprint on her back.And she knows two boys with black palms.find my tumblrs, twitter, ko-fi, and any other linkshere!
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: spideychelle week 2020 babey [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780090
Comments: 13
Kudos: 124
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	black palms

It was 11:58. In two minutes, I turned 18, and the marks would show up. I was on a FaceTime call with Liz, Betty, and Cindy.

“I think it’s Flash,” Cindy said, trying to lighten the mood. Liz and Betty were both quiet, and I was shaking with nerves as I watched the clock.

“Cindy!”

“Geez, Liz, it was just a joke.”

Betty chimed in. “MJ, do you think you’ve met them, yet?”

I shrugged. “Almost eight billion people on the planet, and I know…maybe a couple hundred? It’d be incredibly unlikely that I do.”

Cindy sighed. “Where’s your sense of romanticism?”

“Buried under my logic.”

“She’s got you there.” Liz grinned.

11:59. I took a shaky breath. “What if it’s somewhere weird?”

“Like where?” Betty asked.

I shrugged again.

“What if it’s, like, your boob?”

“It only happens where there’s skin-on-skin contact,” Betty reminded Cindy.

I frowned. “I can’t imagine the first contact I have with someone is their hand on my bare tit.”

Liz snorted. “One hell of a hookup.”

“I just don’t know if I like the idea of a big black splotch on me until somebody I probably don’t know yet touches me there.”

“Ten seconds!” Betty announced.

My anxiety mounted. “Ugh, I don’t even wanna know.”

I dug my nails into my palms as my friends counted down.

“Midnight!” Liz cried out.

“Happy birthday!” they all cheered.

I looked down at myself. I was wearing shorts and a tank top, and I couldn’t see anything on my arms or legs.

“Oh, no, it’s gonna be somewhere weird,” I groaned. I stood up, looking at myself in the mirror. Nothing on the back of my legs, shoulders, any of that.

The girls were quiet as I lifted my tank top, to see if there were any black marks on my stomach.

“Wait,” Liz said, “take off your shirt and face away, I’ll screenshot this so you can see.”

“Okay.” I pulled my tank top off, and showed my back to my MacBook. I heard the shutter sound effect of Liz taking a screenshot, and then pulled my top back on, sitting down in front of my laptop again.

And then the photo appeared in my messages.

A handprint, right on the small of my back.

“Oh, great, so my soulmate is one of those creepy guys who puts a hand on your back instead of saying ‘excuse me’ like a normal person,” I griped.

“Hey, you don’t know that,” Betty said. “He’s probably a really great person.”

I groaned, setting my elbows on my desk and burying my face in my hands. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.”

“Well, hey, you know that you haven’t been touched by them yet. That’s gotta narrow it down a bit!”

I shot Betty a confused look through the screen. “Oh, yeah, you’re right. That just leaves seven and a half billion people.”

“MJ, there’s nothing you can do to change it. You just have to have faith.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at Cindy. “Yeah, I guess. I think I’m just gonna go to sleep.”

“See you in the morning!” Liz said.

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up at eleven,” Betty added.

“Sounds good.” I forced a smile. “Goodnight, guys.” I ended the call, and went to bed.

But of course, I couldn’t sleep.

Because seriously, a handprint on my back?

What kind of absolute dickbag was I getting?

I tossed and turned for a couple hours, before I gave up on trying to sleep and doodled in my sketchbook for a while before my eyelids felt heavy. Then, and only then, did I manage to fall asleep.

I woke up to an overeager cousin jostling me awake.

“Happy birthday!”

Rubbing the grogginess out of my eyes, I sat up in bed. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love me,” Gayle said. “Come on, I made those lemon waffles you like.”

“You have my attention.”

She laughed, pulling me out of bed, and into her kitchen.

Gayle was my older cousin. Four years older, to be precise, living on a healthy diet of a minimum wage retail job, selling feet pics, and stripping at parties. I did what I could to help out, giving Gayle most of my paycheque each month, but we still couldn’t afford much.

That was the price we paid, I suppose. We’d cut off the rest of our family two years ago. They were emotionally and verbally abusive, which we could handle, but the day my dad pinned me to the wall with his hand wrapped around my throat, Gayle and I packed our bags and left.

And, financial issues aside, shit was pretty good. Our tiny apartment was decorated just how we liked it, and the independence felt great.

Gayle was still waiting on her soulmate. Her mark was an inky black hand. I teased her about high-fiving her soulmate, all the time, but today, seeing her dark palm hand me a plate of waffles, I realized my soulmate would have the same mark.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence. “Are you gonna tell me?”

I shoveled a forkful of waffle into my mouth, and opened my phone to show her the screenshot.

“Oh, wow.”

I nodded, making a sour expression as I did.

“Oh, Shelly, it’ll probably be really cute and you’ll laugh about thinking he’s an asshole in the first place.”

I swallowed. “Cute isn’t a concept I’m very well acquainted with.”

Gayle crossed her arms and glared at me. “It’s going to be cute, you’re going to like it, and that’s just the way the universe works.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re the worst.”

After breakfast, I opened the birthday cards I’d gotten from more extended family. $100 from Grandma Watson, $300 from Grandma and Grandpa Jones, $150 from Uncle Spencer. $550 total.

Not bad for an 18th birthday.

I called everyone to thank them (which meant subjecting myself to being sung _Happy Birthday_ over the phone, but for $550, I could deal with it), and then got ready to go out with the girls.

I put $400 away, because I decided to be responsible with my first large chunk of money as an adult, and let myself have $150 to spend for the day.

I needed some more gouache anyways, and some new clothes couldn’t hurt.

Liz rolled up right on time. I ran downstairs when I saw her car pulling up.

As I walked out the front doors Liz rolled down the passenger side window. Betty and Cindy were in the back, letting me have shotgun.

“Get in, loser, we’re going shopping!” Liz shouted.

“I don’t know her!” I yelled to a couple walking by. I ran and got into the car. “I hate you.”

The three of them laughed.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cindy asked, “that was great!”

“She just doesn’t appreciate the reference,” Betty added, egging me on. I whipped around in my seat, giving her a playful glare as Liz pulled away from the curb.

I took over the AUX in the car, turning on a Kendrick Lamar album (because _To Pimp A Butterfly_ goes hard and you cannot tell me otherwise). The others didn’t really know the music, but they bobbed their heads along anyways.

We got to the mall, and I made a beeline for the art supply store. The girls trailed behind me as I combed through the aisles, eyeing fancy pens I couldn’t justify buying, brushing my fingers over multi-media paper to feel the texture. I found the gouache, and started looking for the brand and colours I needed.

“Hey, um, who’s gonna be at the party tonight?” I asked.

Liz coughed. “Wh-uh, what party tonight?”

I didn’t look up from the paints. “The surprise party.”

“Dammit, which one of you let the cat out of the bag?” Cindy asked. “Because it wasn’t me.”

“None of you said anything,” I assured them, plucking tubes of paint off the display. “You’ve just thrown a surprise party every birthday since freshman year.” I walked past them with my paints, heading to the register. “It’s just a little predictable, is all.”

Betty blinked. “Well, um, can you still act surprised?”

I forced a smile. “Of course.”

I paid for the paints, and we went off, wandering around to find an acceptable place to shop.

“Ooh, we should go to Victoria’s Secret,” Cindy suggested, “or La Senza. You’re gonna need something sexy for your soulmate.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, whoever gets stuck with me is gonna have to deal with comfy cotton and nothing else.”

“Lame.”

“I just don’t get the point of lingerie. You’re buying something expensive and sexy that’ll only get taken off, like, immediately after they see you in it.”

“Hey, maybe you should get something backless.” I shot a confused look at Cindy, and she elaborated, “Because of the handprint.”

“No, I got that,” I said.

“So they can touch your back-”

“Cindy, I think what MJ’s trying to say is that she doesn’t really intend on stripping down to lingerie with someone she hasn’t even touched.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Betty snorted, rolling her eyes. “Oh, what would we do without you?”

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see the goofy photo I had of Peter going down a slide at night, and his name at the top of my screen. I answered the call.

“Hey,” I said.

“Happy birthday!” There were two voices, his and Ned’s.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Sorry, I would’ve called earlier, but I just woke up,” Peter apologized.

“It’s alright. I’m, um, out with the girls right now, but I’m assuming I’ll see you tonight?”

He coughed. I heard Ned’s voice in the background, but couldn’t make out what he’d said. “Uh, do we have plans tonight?”

“You’re a bad liar, Parker.”

There was a pause. “Who told you?”

“Nobody told me, I’m just not stupid.”

“Fair enough. Yeah, I’ll see you tonight. While we’re at it, do you want me to bring any alcohol? Mr. Stark said he’d hook me up.”

“Sure. You know my usual.”

“Alright, see you later. Have fun!”

“I will. See you.”

The line clicked, and I put my phone back in my pocket, and we continued shopping.

By the end of our trip, I’d spent most of the $150 I’d set aside for myself on paint, a new pair of shorts, and a couple of bikinis. It was summer, after all.

Our shopping adventure had eaten up most of the day, so we went to a diner closer to Liz’s place for dinner, and then over to Liz’s house.

“Remember,” Betty said, “act surprised.”

I nodded.

Liz opened the door, and turned on the lights.

Everyone jumped out of furniture, screaming, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” and throwing confetti.

I acted surprised, and laughed it off, thanking everyone.

I should clarify who “everyone” is. For the most part, it was Liz’s sorority, and the matching fraternity. To be fair, I’d met most of them, and really got along with them. However, the decathlon team was also there.

Flash came up to me. “So, where’s your mark? Can I see it?”

I scowled. “I’ll leave a pretty nasty mark on you if you ask me that one more time.”

“Believe her, dude, I watched her punch out a creep at a frat party last month,” Cindy mentioned as she walked past.

Flash scurried off.

I went off towards the kitchen. The sooner I could get some alcohol in me, the better. This whole soulmate thing had me stressed out.

Here’s the thing. I didn’t like the system. It robbed us of exploring relationships. Most people never dated until they found their soulmates, and that seemed ludicrous to me. It robbed us of crushes, of heartbreak, of learning how to be a good romantic partner before you’re committed to someone for life.

Not to mention the importance it placed on touch. It seemed shallow to me. And I didn’t really like to be touched.

“MJ!”

I looked up to see Peter heading my way, just as I was about to pour some vodka into a red cup.

“Hey!”

He grinned, pulling a bottle of my favourite wine out from behind his back. “Happy birthday.”

I took it from his hands, looking at the label. “You’re the best.” I smiled.

“Ooh, I got a rare Michelle Jones smile! That’s how I know I killed it.”

I snorted. “Okay, don’t push it, Peter.”

Every time I talked to him, there was this twinge in my chest. As we chatted and drank, I found myself trying to remember if we’d touched before. We must’ve, right?

Definitely. We’d been friends for, what, two years now?

I shook it off, just in time for Peter to ask, “Hey, uh, did you get your mark?”

Translation: _Has your soulmate touched you yet?_

I nodded. “Right on my back.”

He breathed in, puffing out his cheeks. “Yikes.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Maybe it’ll be, like, a doctor?” Peter asked.

I frowned. “No. _Ew._ Peter.”

“Yep. Heard it. Sorry.”

Before I could respond, a blonde that Peter worked with at Stark Industries bounded up to us.

“Peter!” She looked…enthusiastic. A different twinge ran through my chest, up my sternum and lodging in my throat.

“Oh, hey, Gwen. How’d you get here?”

“My big sister is in the sorority,” she explained. She turned to me. “You must be the birthday girl, right?”

I cleared my throat. “Mhm. Yeah. Eighteen.”

“Ooh, a big one. Do you plan on moving out?”

Peter coughed. “She already did.” He shot me an apologetic look. “Um, sorry, Gwen, I’m just-”

“No, come on! Flash is about to do a keg, and I think he’s about to embarrass himself.”

Before he could respond, Gwen had grabbed his wrist and was pulling him along. He mouthed an apology to me just as he disappeared around a corner.

I put the bottle to my lips and drank.

The rest of the party was great, but I found myself thinking about Peter, wracking my brain for a time we’d touched.

I could remember throwing pencils at him in study sessions, pushing his shoulder playfully in class, but no skin-to-skin contact.

But there was no way. His soulmate was probably that Gwen girl, and I’d meet my soulmate in some bar in a few years.

Liz drove me home at the end of the night. I was drunk, having polished off a bottle of wine on my own, and was sitting curled up in the passenger seat of her car. Cindy and Betty had gotten home for curfew an hour or two ago, so it was just us.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Liz nodded.

“Why didn’t it work out with you and Peter?”

She hesitated. “What do you mean?”

I looked over at her. “He was your homecoming date. And it looked like you both really liked each other. So why didn’t it work out?”

Liz shook her head. “He was just…always running off. And, I mean, obviously we know now that it’s just because he’s Spider-Man, but I didn’t know that at the time. Plus, he’s touched me, but I still have my mark, so I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.” She glanced at me. “Why are you asking?”

I shrugged. “Curious, I guess.”

“Do you like him?”

I thought about him, and felt that twinge in my chest again. “I don’t know. Can you like someone that’s not your soulmate?” It was more rhetorical and philosophical, than anything.

“I did.”

We fell silent for the rest of the ride.

\---

The next month passed slowly, with a lot of anxiety. I found myself wearing crop tops more, exposing my back. It had to be skin-to-skin, right? If this was how I found my soulmate and got this whole guessing game over with, than I was willing to play along.

And then another month passed, with no magical soulmate sightings. Peter’s birthday approached, and Ned came to me with the idea to do a surprise party.

“Dude, no more surprise parties. Just plan a party, tell Peter, and he won’t get so anxious.”

Ned took my advice, and we had the party the day after Peter’s birthday.

When I showed up, Peter sitting on the couch, listening to Gwen as she talked. I waved, and he smiled, waving me over.

His hand was black.

I couldn’t help but wonder if it’d fit against the handprint on my back.

“Hey! Happy birthday!”

“You said that yesterday, Em,” he teased, “but thank you.”

I rolled my eyes, and pulled a slushie out from behind my back. “Spiked with white rum, your favourite.”

I handed it to him, and he grinned. “You’re the best.”

“Yeah, don’t forget it anytime soon, Parker.”

I saw Liz getting hit on by Flash over in a different corner of the apartment, and excused myself to go save her.

“Flash, if you pull some ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ bullshit one more time, I will roundhouse kick you in the face.”

He scurried off.

“Thanks, MJ.”

The party went by uneventfully after that. I did shots with Cindy in the kitchen, played Never Have I Ever with a few people in the living room, and eventually got a call from Gayle.

“Hey, don’t come home tonight. There was some guy with a gun running around outside the building. I’m staying at Uncle Spencer’s for the night.”

“I- sure. Okay.”

“Good. Text me where you’re staying, and in the morning.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Have fun, stay safe.” She hung up.

Okay, now to find someone to stay with.

I went to find Liz, only for Cindy to inform me that she’d headed home right after Never Have I ever. Just as I started to ask Cindy if I could stay with her, Peter approached us.

“MJ, if you need a place to sleep, I have bunk beds.”

I blinked. “Right, um, is that gonna be okay with May?”

Peter shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it?”

Cindy stared at me, and I didn’t have a reason to say no, so I agreed.

“Sure. Thanks, Peter.”

“No problem.”

I spent the rest of the party on the couch, chatting with Betty until Ned’s curfew, at which point he drove her home.

The party started to clear out, until it was just Peter and I.

I was pretty drunk and sleepy, but I insisted on helping him clean up.

“Did you and Gayle have a fight?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Some guy was on our street waving a gun. Gayle went to our uncle’s, but he lives about half an hour outside of New York, and I can’t drive because, you know…”

“Vodka,” Peter said, nodding.

“So, yeah. Thanks for letting me bunk with you.”

He waved it off. “It’s no problem. I’d rather you’re safe.”

“There’s the Spider-Man we know and love,” I teased.

He laughed, and we went back to cleaning. After a few moments of silence, Peter asked, “Hey, what ever happened with you and Brad?”

I frowned. “What about Brad?”

“It just seemed like there was something there for a while, but he didn’t come to your birthday party.”

“Oh. Yeah. He was out of town. I think he’s coming to the pool tomorrow, though.”

“O-okay. Cool. Sure.”

I waited to see if he’d ask anything else, but he didn’t.

After a while of cleaning and yawning, Peter slumped against the back of the couch. “Okay, I’m done.”

I laughed. No, giggled. “Dork.” I threw an empty red cup at him.

“I’m serious. I’m too drunk and tired for this.”

I went over to him and held out my hand, only for him to refuse. I rolled my eyes. “Alright, well, I’m going to sleep.” I started to walk away.

“Wait,” he whined, “I’m coming.”

He got up by planting his feet and then just. Standing. Didn’t use his hands, didn’t struggle, just lifted himself up with pure core strength.

I stared at him. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“It’s the super strength!” he protested. “And the floor’s sticky.”

“Yeah, so are you, dumbass.”

He laughed, running his hand through his hair.

There was that twinge again.

“Um, you can steal my sweats to sleep in, if you want. I’m gonna take a quick shower.”

“Sounds good.”

I headed into his room, and went through his closet, finding a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt without a math joke.

I have to specify that it didn’t have a math joke on it, because most of his shirts did.

I changed, struggling to maintain balance as I did, and then headed to the kitchen for a drink of water.

Peter came out of the bathroom wearing boxers, and toweling off his hair. I sucked in a breath, trying not to stare at his body.

“Hey, I pulled out a spare toothbrush for you.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

He blinked slowly, and then smiled. “Okay. I’ll take the top bunk. Don’t want you to roll off in your sleep.”

I smiled back. “Thanks.”

He went back to his room. I finished my water, and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. By the time I entered his room, he was asleep on his stomach, breathing slowly and softly.

_Twinge._

I laid down on the lower bunk and settled in, trying to ignore scent of his sheets. It was pleasant, in a way I couldn’t pin down.

He shifted, and his arm fell from the bunk, dangling down next to my head.

His hand was black.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that, despite the fact that I knew black hands weren’t uncommon. For god’s sakes, Gayle’s hand was black.

If I touched his hand now, what would happen? What if we were soulmates and I touched him early?

Before I could think it through, I was slowly reaching up.

And then he shifted again, and his arm moved back up onto the bunk.

I was too drunk to analyze that.

I turned over, and went to sleep.

\---

When I woke up in the morning, Peter was already up. I could hear him in the kitchen, humming as he clunked around.

I rolled out of bed and walked out into the kitchen, pulling my hair up into a ponytail as I did.

“Morning,” I grumbled. “What time is it?”

“Nine thirty,” Peter answered. “Do you want pancakes?”

“Yes, please.”

He handed me a plate, and I poured some syrup over them and then leaned against the counter.

“How are you feeling? You had a lot to drink last night.”

“Perk of a super-metabolism,” he said. “No hangovers.”

“Oh, I hate you.”

He chuckled.

_Twinge._

“How’d you sleep?”

I remembered his soft breathing over my head, reaching for his hand as it dangled next to my head.

I swallowed. “Good.”

He gave me a soft smile.

_Twinge, twinge, twinge._

“How’s your head?”

“Not bad. It’ll go down in a couple hours.”

“That’s good.”

We ate our pancakes in silence for a few moments. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what.

“My sweats look better on you than they do on me,” Peter remarked.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you flirting with me, Parker?”

I watched him carefully, as he seemed to go through the five stages of grief in three and a half seconds.

“I- no. Of course not.”

There was a pang in my chest.

_Ha. Fuck._

“That’s what I thought.”

Our silence was slightly more awkward now.

“Um, do you wanna just…give them back to me at the pool later? I’m not gonna make you change into yesterday’s clothes to go home.”

“Sure. Thanks, Peter.”

He smiled. “No problem.”

After we ate, I helped him clean up the last of the disaster from last night, and then collected my things and headed home. I texted Gayle as I left Peter’s, and when I got into the lobby of the building, she was waiting for me.

“I’m glad you stayed with Peter last night,” she said. “They arrested the guy this morning after he shot someone from the building next door.”

“Shit.”

I went upstairs with her, and we did some housework together, singing musical theatre tunes to each other while we cleaned.

“So,” she asked, turning down the music before we dove into dishes, “are you gonna tell me why you’re wearing Peter’s clothes?”

I looked down. “Oh, right.” I cleared my throat. “Um, he offered me clothes to sleep in, and then told me to just…give them back when we’re at the pool later.”

“Hm.”

“Hm what?”

“I just think it’s interesting.”

“Interesting how?” I challenged.

“You sure he’s not your soulmate?”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve touched in the last two years,” I said.

Gayle hummed again. I ignored it.

When we were done the housework, I did a load of laundry in our little portable machine, including Peter’s sweats, and FaceTimed Betty to ask for opinions on which bikini to wear today. I showed off the two bikinis from our shopping trip back in June, plus two more I’d owned prior to that. She gave her recommendation, a burnt orange bikini I’d bought in June, and I wore it under a large button up and loose shorts.

I finished the laundry, made sure Peter’s clothes were dry and folded, and told Betty I was ready.

She picked me up, and we made it to the pool early, changing in the dressing room and then walking out towards the pool.

The only other person there was Brad Davis.

He came up to me, big grin on his face.

“Hey, MJ.”

“Hi.”

Betty looked between us, and excused herself to lay in the sun.

“I haven’t seen you since graduation,” he said, following me as I claimed a chair, putting my bag on it. I made sure Peter’s clothes spilled out a little. “Whoa. On your back.”

I stood back up, too fast. He’d noticed the wrong thing, but it was fine. Same message.

“Yeah.”

He held up his hand.

Black.

Oh, _god_.

“Do you mind if I…?”

I stepped back, somewhat involuntarily. “Um, I’m sorry, I just don’t really like being touched in general-”

“Not even when it comes to finding out who your soulmate is?”

Luckily, Ned arrived just then. “MJ! Where’s Betty?”

I pointed across the pool, and he went over that way.

“I actually need to talk to Ned,” I lied, gathering my things and running off. I put my things down next to Betty’s chair, and turned to Ned. “Hey, you need to pretend to be talking to me about something important.”

“Oh, I don’t have to pretend. I went to a thrift store earlier and found a limited edition figurine of Darth Vader-”

Ned kept talking, and I kind of just tuned it out, thinking instead about last night.

Had Peter’s hand moved by fate? Because that wasn’t supposed to be our first touch?

I was thinking to hard about it, I knew that. Because Peter and I must have touched sometime in the last two years. It was near impossible that we hadn’t.

But now I was overly aware of all the times we hadn’t touched. Our fingers hadn’t brushed as I handed him his slushie last night. And they hadn’t brushed as he handed me a plate this morning.

And then there was a hand on my back. I jumped, and saw Brad, who was now looking at his hand.

“Still black.”

“I told you not to touch me,” I snapped.

“Whoa-”

“What, you don’t like me when I talk back?”

He put his hands up in surrender. I moved so I could face him better, back to the pool.

“No, answer me. What did I tell you when you asked?”

He swallowed. “That you don’t like to be touched.”

“And what did you do?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Okay, I’m just trying to find my forever girl. Maybe you want to be alone forever, but you could at least take the compliment of me wanting you. I’m sure it’s a rare feeling.”

I half-scoffed, half-laughed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

And then he took a step towards me, looking angry. I stepped back, my foot slipping off the edge of the pool. I started to fall backwards, and then a hand on my back stopped me from falling further back, and an arm wrapped around my waist to pull me back onto solid land.

I was face to face with Peter.

I swallowed. We had definitely touched now.

“Hi.”

“Hey, you good?”

I nodded. “Let me see your hand.”

“What?”

“Let me see your hand,” I repeated.

He let go of me, and showed me his hands, palms out.

No black.

Betty gasped. “MJ, your back-”

“For fuck’s sakes,” Brad grumbled.

I was still staring at Peter’s hands.

“We’ve never touched,” I said, breaking my gaze away from his hands and looking Peter in the eyes.

“I guess not.”

\---

We went for a drive after the group hung out at the pool for a few hours. Peter drove us out to the suburbs, and off the road and parked us next to a creek running through the neighbourhood.

“So, um, soulmates,” he said, awkwardly.

“Soulmates,” I agreed. “Well, um, first of all, thanks for not being a creep.”

He chuckled. “No problem.”

I sighed. “How have we been friends, _close friends_ , for two years, and never touched?”

“You don’t like being touched,” Peter said. “I knew that. I just…was always cognisant of that, I guess.”

I looked over at him, and allowed myself to say exactly what was on my mind. “You’re literally perfect.”

He leaned towards me a bit, and then hesitated for a split second before leaning in the rest of the way, kissing me with parted lips.

Holy fuck, he was a good kisser.

I melted into it, and leaned forward, only for my seatbelt to restrict me. I broke the kiss for a second, just to unbuckle, and moved back in.

I held his face with both hands and pressed my lips to his. One of his hands landed on my waist, the other on my arm.

It was the perfect kiss. There was nothing special about it, in all honesty, but it was perfect, because it was Peter, and he was amazing and perfect and I got to spend the rest of my life with him and I was so, so, so lucky.

_Twinge._


End file.
